Chapter Six, Magical Malady
The Circe Theory seemed really possible at this point, Stiles realized as the sun crawled over the horizon. In Homer's Odyssey she had strangely docile lions and wolves. That could have been werewolves. Maybe they were so far gone with the curse though, after having spent a decade or more there that they were eventually turned into wolves. If Isaac was right and the longer they all stayed here, the more animalistic they became, then it was entirely possible. However things didn't turn out so great for Odysseus –considering his crew was transformed into useless, squealing pigs. Only with Hermes' divine intervention on behalf of Athena were they able to save Odysseus and his crew, which resulted in leaving Odysseus on the deserted island with the sorceress Circe. And that was only after he had her swear on the gods and goddesses that she wouldn't take his manhood. So the solution to this particular version was to… trick the witch with resistant herbs and then sleep with her?
Well, if that were to be the case, then maybe someone knew of the herb. The sun was at it's zenith as Stiles hunted through scientific and botanical websites before he found a name that listed on both sites. Deaton. Moly had allowed the men to resist Circe's potions and allowed the crew to revert back to their original forms. Stiles spent less than five minutes composing the email before firing it off to this Deaton fellow. Maybe they would get lucky. He might have an idea of what the moly plant was –some suspected that it was a snowdrop but that didn't exactly seem likely. The enchanter's nightshade did seem more likely, however it was also probably poisonous. It didn't matter, it was out of his hands for now.
He pulled back from the desk with a heavy sigh. His stomach gave a loud, indignant growl. Stiles glanced at the clock on the screen, shocked to see that it was already the middle of the afternoon.
"Have you eaten at all?" Scott asked, lingering in the doorway. He held a tray of food in his hands.
"Uh, not today, no…"
"Good," he replied with a grin. "Mom figured you hadn't so she sent me up here to eat with you."
Scott didn't come upstairs very often, even less when there was a chance that he might run into Derek.
"Well, thanks," he replied.
"No problem," he grinned. "So you've met Allison before, right? Isn't she the sweetest?"
"Totally," Stiles said absently, distractedly lifting his utensils to his hands before devouring his meal.
"She's so beautiful, especially with that smile… and her eyes…"
"Have you been in love with her for long?"
"Since the first day I saw her!" he enthused. "Her dad isn't so cool with us though so… and there's not exactly a lot of privacy…"
Stiles made a sound of agreement and he polished off the rest of his dinner with less dignity than he had wolfed it down with. Scott laughed brightly. And somehow, it became a routine between the two of them. They never talked about Derek though, or about how Scott felt about the whole situation. Scott asked a lot about the outside world and what he had heard from his mother and Chris about the way things were outside the manor. Stiles felt bad for him –this curse, whatever it was, wasn't fair to anyone.
Two days later, Stiles finally had his answer from Deaton explaining about the herbs and how to properly use them. Thankfully the guy wasn't a weirdo or a creep. Apparently he had a masters degree in mythology and fairy tale studies (seriously, who knew that was even a real degree?) and he discussed the properties of each herb he sent along in how it would be used according to each animal-cursed myth or story it centered around. Stiles saved the email. A week later the mail had arrived with the half a dozen herbs, which Chris was courteous enough to bring to him. Although he didn't really seem very willing about the whole thing…
That lunch hour as he was busy preparing the herbs per Deaton's instructions with Scott (who had turned out to be rather handy to have around) when Isaac showed up with lunch.
"D-Derek sent lunch up," he stumbled over the words, staring in shock.
"What? You've met Scott before haven't you?" Stiles asked with a grin.
Isaac blushed, like actually blushed and ducked his head –and oh, oh, ohhhhh –some stray curls flopping to hide his eyes. "Um yeah, here," he put the tray down quickly.
Scott was still going over the preparations for the snowdrop plant, frowning in concentration at the instructions.
"Hey do you want to join us Isaac?" Stiles asked with a grin. "Could always use more help."
"What are you doing?" he asked, peering over Scott to look at the six different types of plants in front of him.
"Experimenting," Stiles replied cheerily as he grabbed a plate of elegantly cut clubhouse.
"With flowers?"
"They're herbs," Scott corrected automatically. Stiles had been pestering him about what distinguished herbs from flowers –it was very important to know.
"They might help Derek," Stiles answered as he took a bite of his sandwich.
"How?"
"They're curse breakers," Scott said, flashing Isaac a dimpled grin. "Stiles did a bunch of research and he got in contact with this guy Deaton and these herbs might help. Like they did in each of their stories, where they resisted the curse or turned the curse back against the spell-caster."
"So we might have figured this thing out?"
"Hopefully," Stiles said with an awkward laugh. He wasn't going to be pessimistic about this mess. This could do it. There was every reason for it to work and no reason for it to do nothing.
It took them three quarters of an hour with all three of them filling out the preparations for each herb before they were done. A day and a half later, Stiles dragged Derek into the study room that was overrun with herbs.
"You really think this will work?" he groused, staring at the plants in disbelief. "Some flowers can magically break this curse?"
"They have before," Stiles replied confidently, grabbing the snowdrop first.
"Like the kiss was supposed to?" he quipped gruffly.
Stiles froze for a second before getting back to his feet. He shoved the flower at Derek. "Eat this."
He eyed the plant with distaste. "All of it?"
"Every last leaf," the teenager shot back.
It could totally work. It had to work, to at least do something. And, it turned out, it did do something. For a grand two hours, Derek walked around like a regular human. The wolfy features receded and he was human. Stiles recorded the information down. He ignored the way the whole house seemed to reek of disappointment when the evening rolled by and Derek was back to his grouchy, unapproachable self. The next day they tried the enchanter's nightshade, which turned out to be a bad idea.
Derek was sick for the day with a high fever, chills, vomiting and muscle aches. The flu. When Stiles woke up in the middle of the night to find an over-heated, overgrown man hovering over him, he flailed. Derek tripped, falling gracelessly onto Stiles and knocking the air out of the younger man.
With a breathless, weak, "Forgive me?" Derek promptly passed out.
Stiles spent the next hour fighting with his unmoving and unforgiving body until he had Derek safely tucked into bed beside him. "You need to lose some muscle," Stiles breathed out bitterly. He exhaled shakily. "Jesus, Derek."
He set his hand on his forehead and snuck out of bed to grab a cool cloth to try and keep his temperature down. Stiles changed the cloth another three times, even as the sun was cresting the horizon. Somewhere between then and mid-morning, he fell asleep hunched over his bed and looking after a very sickly Derek.
When he woke up though, it was to find himself in bed. Alone. The sun was blinding in its vengeance and he yawned loudly as he stumbled out of bed and right into the too-familiar muscular chest of one Derek Hale. Seriously, no one here was more muscular. Did they have a competition going on or something for most buff?
"Can I help you?" Derek asked with a lazy smirk.
Stiles jerked back. "Yeah. I need to feed you another herb."
Derek scowled. "No."
"Yes! Come on, it wasn't so bad the first time."
"Yeah. It could get worse. What if the next one kills me?"
"Well then my theory will be tested…"
"You do want to test it!" he growled. "I knew you did!"
"No pain, no gain, right?" Stiles asked uncertainly. "We gotta try something."
"I've never been sick a day in my life –"
"Well see, there you go. You were due one illness. Come on Derek, trust me?" he batted his eyelashes teasingly.
Derek rolled his eyes. "Fine. Try me. Just don't do that again."
Stiles dragged him to the study. "No time like the present!"
He shoved the next herb at him. Derek eyed it critically. "Is this one going to kill me or turn me into a wild animal?" he growled.
"It's a cure, not a curse," he replied carefully. "Try it?"
"No. I'm not going to let you kill me."
"I'm sorry about yesterday!" Stiles growled. "But you have to try! If not for yourself then for everyone here."
"What about me life?" he demanded crossly. "I've never been sick a day in my life –I'm practically resistant to illness and you throw this-this flower at me–"
"The first time was great!" he countered desperately. "You know it and I know it. You were human for two hours!"
"A lot of good two hours is," he snarled.
"It's better than nothing! Goddammit Derek! Do you want to be stuck here? Do you want us all to suffer?! Because that's what it looks like –you won't even try. I have a father to return to. They all have homes! And memories!"
"What do you want from me?!" Derek roared back, stepping into Stiles' personal space.
"I want you to try! To actually try and get yourself out of this mess –whatever it is."
"You think I haven't before?" he snarled, his eyes flashing red.
"I think you gave up too early. Besides all of that, I'm not Scott or Peter or anyone else here and I am going home to see my father by the end of the year. If I have to rip your claws out and lead you by the fang to do it –I'll do it. Or you could just tell me and let me help you."
"I'm not talking about it," Derek growled, stepping back. "Not that."
"Then you've doomed us all!" he shouted. "Why don't you just kill me now?! It'll be a lot quicker and a hell of a lot easier!"
Stiles meant it, in the same way that he didn't mean it at all. If they were doomed here, all of them, they were going to sink together. Derek had a certain responsibility for all of them. If he wouldn't try, then he was screwing things up for everyone forced to live with him.
Derek stared at him, the red fading to blue-grey in its absence. "It's not easy," he stated carefully. "I don't want to talk about it. But I will try that herb."
It was as much of a peace offering as he was going to get. Stiles smiled, warm and bright. He handed the herb over to Derek, who eyed it with distaste before chowing down. He turned human instantly. But it only lasted an hour, and when it wore off Derek was left with a rash. The next herb was worse. Immediate allergic reaction that thankfully didn't kill him. With a scowl and a threat, Derek promised that he would kill Stiles if anything went wrong again. The next herb worked a little differently than expected. Derek was neither sick nor human from it. In fact, it didn't seem to do anything at all. Stiles recorded all the information down again before handing the last herb to Derek.
Instantly, heat suffused into his cheeks and he darted out of the room. Stiles spent the day looking for him, but he couldn't find him no matter how he looked.
That night, however, was an interesting experience. Unique, most certainly. Because Stiles woke up at god-knows-what-hour to find himself staring into the very human face of Derek Hale. Literally. Stiles was lying on his back, under a thin silken sheet, staring into Derek's eyes. His automatic flail reaction was muted when his legs tangled in the sheets and he discovered that Derek was literally right over him, his hands pinning Stiles' to the sheets.
"U-uh hey Derek… this is awfully, uh, intimate."
Derek swallowed tightly –Stiles could see the way his Adam's apple bobbed in the darkness. Stiles shifted, aware of how it felt like a furnace between the two of them.
"Y-you're burning up, man. You-you okay?"
"Fine," Derek breathed out, his head steadily moving closer to Stiles'. "I'm perfect." There was a hoarseness to his voice that could only be described as being husky.
"I-I think that, ah, herb did something to you."
"Stiles," Derek groaned, pressing his nose against the side of his neck, nuzzling him. "Stiles, forgive me," he husked as he pressed his hips shockingly close to Stiles'.
"Derek!" he squeaked out in surprise, trying to move aside.
It seemed that Derek had other ideas, though. Based on the fact that his gentle, stubbly nuzzles had changed to lazy, open-mouthed kisses along his neck. Not that it was unpleasant, but shocking, and the tantalizing gyrations of Derek's hips were equally distracting.
"Y-you haven't even bought me dinner yet," he choked out.
"I brought you breakfast," he murmured, shifting until they were pressing against each other. "My chef cooks your meals every day."
"That doesn't count," he gasped out. "D-Derek thi-this is a bad idea."
Derek only hummed in response, a sound that was closer to a groan than it was to a musical noise. "Forgive me," he repeated.
"Y-you'll regret this in the morning," he moaned helplessly. "I will too. Derek, come on, please… think about this."
"I have," he growled, his lazy kisses changing to pinpricks of teeth as he nipped carefully with all too-human teeth.
He had a protest ready, completely prepared for a solid argument until Derek ground his hips down deliberately, rocking forward against Stiles. And even then, when he struggled against Derek's hands in order to encourage him to change his mind, Derek's lips pressed against his own and he flicked his tongue a couple of times until there was no room for thought in Stiles' brain. Derek was impressive and talented and he felt amazing; from the teasing roll of his hips, and the lack of sorely needed contact to his skilled tongue and stubble. Derek shifted and before Stiles could question it, the silken sheets that had been resistant to allowing friction between their overeager bodies was gone.
It was all Derek there, beneath the thin layer of cotton briefs –just as Stiles was completely there, under the layer of his cotton pajamas. The friction was delightful, sending waves of pleasure and a chorus of groans from each man as their hips pressed together and they writhed together in passion and lust. Awareness came fleetingly, most of it was centered on the way Derek felt against him –hard and firm, pre-come dampening the thin material that divided them. He could hear Derek moan, feel the way the sound rumbled from within his chest. Distantly he realized his hands were free, only when he felt how Derek's were gliding along his ribs while the other reached between them to wrap around their erections more intimately than Stiles knew possible. Which wasn't saying a lot, since Stiles was the only one accustomed to having touched himself.
"Yes," he breathed out, arching into Derek's touch eagerly.
His breath hitched as he rocked his hips in time with Derek's ministrations, on the verge of bliss, ready to tumble off the summit and dive into the heavenly euphoria that he knew was waiting there. There was something more intense about it, the way he could feel Derek pressed against him and how he was working them to that brink simultaneously.
And then, abruptly, it was over. And not in the good kind of way. He was achingly hard and heaving breathy gasps and moans as he melted under Derek when the older man pulled off him. Blue-grey eyes clouded over with red, where stubble had once been there was now a lot more facial hair –and Stiles could recognize abject mortification when he saw it on another person. However, this was his first time seeing it on another person, but it was nonetheless easy to spot. Especially seeing as Derek all but ran from the room.
Humiliation and confusion welled up, somehow finding their way to outrage as he lay in bed, breathless, hard and alone. The clock on the nightstand condescendingly flashed 3:00am when his eyes met its impassive, nonchalant reflection.